


potato rights

by epicallyducky



Category: youtube - Fandom
Genre: Jackiplier, M/M, Septiplier - Freeform, THIS IS ALL THAT TUMBLR POST'S FAULT GOODBYE, and i suck at writing so please don't expect much from this, complete and utter trash, i'm trash, marksepticeye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3705779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epicallyducky/pseuds/epicallyducky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>you want a summary? <a href="http://epicallyducky.tumblr.com/post/115849330061/septipliers-epicallyducky-septipliers">these are</a> <a href="http://septipliers.tumblr.com/post/115852469591/epicallyducky-septipliers-jack-pls-calm-down">the summary</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	potato rights

**Author's Note:**

> so tumblr user septipliers wanted drunk!jackiplier and they didn't ask me for this but i wanted to do it bc _just read the summary okay_
> 
> and another thing: there's no smut. i can't write smut. someone else should write all the smut jesus christ this is just gonna be the potato part

Mark wondered why his neighbors haven’t gone outside to kick down his front door yet. His ears were ringing and the laughter that was coming out of his own mouth sounded like it was so far away. One of his hands was clutching at his stomach while the other was reaching up to wipe the tears that were starting to form behind his glasses. A sharp sound invaded his ears and he then realized that it was the laughter of the man on the other side of his bed. This has been going on for _hours,_ and Mark wasn’t even aware of what the time was anymore; then again, he didn’t particularly care, either.

A hiccup emitted from Sean, interrupting his laughter, but only for a moment as he burst out into another fit afterwards. He was tearing up as well, his arms crossed across his chest in hopes of stopping the pain in his sides. The Irishman’s body flopped down next to Mark as the latter tried to calm down his laughter. His breathing was getting shallower due to the lack of air in his lungs, and with one last sound of utter amusement mixed with a dash of intoxication left his mouth, his hands left their positions and moved to rest on the bed space in front of him. Mark’s glasses were askew due to him falling down on his side like Mr. Lucky Charms over here – _who_ _can’t stop laughing,_ Mark thinks. He rolls across his bed –once, twice, until he’s only mere inches away from the other man. Sean’s loud laughter has reduced to giggling, which Mark is more that thankful for; and not just for the fact that Mark thought it was adorable as all hell.

He inched closer to the still-giggling male until their noses came into contact with each other, and the brunette fell completely silent. Mark smirked internally as blue eyes crossed to try to focus on brown, and he snickered. God, how hammered _were_ they? Mark doesn’t remember much; the last thing he remembers is Sean and him crashing on his bed and complaining that Mark ran out of alcohol. Now that Mark thinks about it, however, he feels as though more alcohol wouldn’t do them well in their current state.

“Maaa- _hic-_ aarrk, you’re scaaaring me, dude.” Sean slurs and Mark tries to focus his attention back on the other male. He narrows his eyes, almost as if he was deep in thought, and Sean can’t read his face so he nudges their noses closer together to prompt him. The Irishman was about to ask Mark if he was okay when the latter finally opened his mouth to speak.

“Do you think potatoes have feelings?”

Sean’s eyebrows furrow at the American, blinking several times before slowly opening his mouth, only to close it again into a straight line. Mark is still staring at him with his eyes narrowed and Sean thinks that if he was sober, he would probably be back to laughing his ass off again.

But in this instance, he was a long way from sober.

“Of course they do, you fuckin’ walnut.” The brunet says in all seriousness, not even noticing how close their faces have gotten during all this.

“ _What?_ You mean when we cut them up and fry ‘em they all scream on the inside?” Mark sounds like he just heard the answer to all of his life’s problems and Sean’s eyes widen. Mark takes a moment to take in how blue and utterly _beautiful -_ wait, _what-_

“Dude, why did you _say_ that? We _have_ to protect the potatoes, Mark.” The man stated suddenly felt a hand grab at his flannel and realizes that it’s Sean’s hand. He decides to not acknowledge the fact that he likes the feeling of it there, saying “Jack, chill. They’re jus’ potatoes.” He argues but then the Irishman tilts his head to bring their faces closer and whispers “Protect the potatoes, Mark.”

Mark feels his friend’s warm breath hit his face and his eyes flicker down when he sees Sean slip his tongue out to lick at his lips.

 _Fuck it,_ Mark thinks before he closes the remaining gap between them. He feels his glasses moving more off his face but he doesn’t _care_ about his fucking glasses because Sean is _kissing him back_ and he thinks his brain is short-circuiting. Mark feels the grip on his shirt tighten and Sean pulls him closer, deepening the kiss.

Mark’s the first one to break away due to lack of air, and him and Sean stare at each other for what felt like _ages,_ the former’s heart racing in his chest and his brain pounding in his head.

Sean opens his mouth and mumbles, still only an inch away from the other male’s face, “You’re lucky I don’t have a girlfriend anymore.” and something in Mark’s mind clicks as he finally remembers why they got into this situation. Sean and his girlfriend had broken up while Sean was visiting Mark in America and the raven-haired man had felt so bad for the Irishman that he dragged him to the nearest bar at 11 pm. They both walked home after God-knows-how-many-shots and crashed in Mark’s house, mainly his bed.

Mark snaps out of his thoughts, laughing, but it was bittersweet, and Sean was thankful for it; because it showed that Mark _knew_ and that he understood. The American reaches up to run a hand through Sean’s hair and the latter sighs, leaning into the touch.

“Sure thing my Potato Rights activist.” He says and the pair burst out laughing once more.


End file.
